Lee Jordan and the commentator's box
by umbrella-stand
Summary: ever wondered what happened to lee jordan? well the wait is officially over as Lee accompinied by a host of his hogwarts chums attempts to thwart the evil plans of count von youngblood at the quidditch world cup. its broomsticks at the ready...
1. Chapter 1

Towards the middle of a windswept field quite probably somewhere in Scotland a great mass of capes and brooms could be seen huddled. The weather, unfortunate as it was did nothing to lighten the spirits of the ministry officials in charge of the final preparations towards this years Quidditch world cup. Indeed as Henry Wednesday leader of the operation in question raised his voice to the crowd of bedraggled wizards a deafening roll of thunder rudely interrupted him.

… 'Right o chaps twice round the pitch for security and back in time for tea'…his words swallowed by the crowd and barely audible against the elemental backlash thrown against those gathered. Grimly and unhappily the officials turned into the weather and began to fan out, dreaming of the cauldron pasties and dry socks that awaited them upon their return to headquarters. The wind rose to gale force, shaking the trees to their roots and bending their boughs in half, the grass below dancing to the whistle of the leaves quivering all around and almost inevitably on a day such as it was the rain began again, at first a shower but soon torrential, drowning out all but the sound of the wind. Nevertheless the honourable officials began carrying out their tasks, muttering incantations hexes and jinxes and forming a tight band of protection around the stadium some 2 miles away. If any Muggle were to approach in the following days they would suddenly remember they had a much more engaging matter to attend to, perhaps a dental appointment or a meeting with the bank.

It was fair to say however that not all the officials were doing their job. It is indeed fairer to say that there was only one person not doing their job a wizard by the name of Sam Redding. Certainly from a distance he looked nothing out of the ordinary, red robes sporting the golden emblem of the Quidditch Association but too look into his eyes was to reveal all. An Imperious Curse, the milky vacant stare washed across his face hidden to his colleagues in the weather. Granted not a particularly impressive imperious performed by a not particularly impressive wizard …undoubtedly poor Sam would wake up the next morning with a terrible headache and no explanation to his worried family as to where he had been for the last 48 hours, but no matter the curse was of suitable effectiveness for the task at hand. Holes would appear in the Ministry's defences. Indeed it would be an interesting World Cup.

In a warmer and far drier environment a figure shifted in his robes and made sure his deep purple hat was pulled low over his face. So dark was his aura that many of the other drinkers in the pub had taken to sitting on the other side of the room, away from the shadow that was engulfing the corner. Turning his back to the fire the man was almost entirely submerged in the Smokey gloom of the pub. He was soon to be disturbed though, looking to the old oak clock on the wall he was expecting company and sure enough it arrived. A sudden draught rushed through the dim room and a hunched figure appeared at the doorway, bringing with him all the uncertain and ominous smells from Knockturn Alley behind him. Stepping into the room the before hunched figure stood straight revealing his true height. Amongst the greasy knots of hair that hung about his face he was quickly revealed as no threat, a not particularity impressive figure to say the least. Removing his rank coat, and too the disgust of the barman, throwing it down on the nearest table he made a steady approach to the man in the corner -his mangy once dragon hide boots making an uneven thud (a duelling accident years gone by the cause of his limp).

'Do you have them' spoke the shadowed man softly.

'Top box, second row' grinned the room's latest arrival as he sat down, revealing a row of crooked stumps in the place of teeth….

Lee Jordan was lay flat on his back staring up at his ceiling. Staring back at him was the impressive poster of Victor Krum, his hand clasped around the golden snitch. Resting under Jordan's feet was a small trunk, but this young wizard was not going back to Hogwarts, not for another few weeks yet no this was a chance in a lifetime: 'THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP' read his ticket and man was he excited all his hero's under the same roof! Bulgaria Ireland two fantastic sides! Lee was dizzy with excitement. Not bothering to suppress his grin he briefly looked to his right and stopped. There it was. His small brass commentator's stand, complete with scoreboard and microphone. A feeling of warmth spread across him as he felt the cool metal as he thought back to his fun at Hogwarts- his voice booming across the stands. Snapping to the present Lee rose to his feet 'that'll be me one day- great commentator I'll be there in those stands' he said to Victor still scowling at him from the wall.

Grabbing his suitcase he exited his small ground floor room and looked to the day ahead. 'Wonder if Neville will puke after the port key trip' he thought to himself. Lee's school friend had been only too glad to accept a ticket, it meant a few days away from his vicious granny, something of a holiday in his eyes.

Closing the door behind him Lee smiled. 'Top box row 2' he breathed punching the air 'HERE I COME'.


	2. Chapter 2

'Hurry up lads only a few kilometres to go' Lees dad was way ahead and having no trouble navigating the hill, Neville however was having slightly more trouble, after having a rather interesting run in with a bed of nettles just moments before. Looking back Lee noticed Neville had indeed collapsed and was making gasping sounds quite similar to those of a beached wale.

'The sooner I learn how to apparate the better' Lee grumbled rolling his eyes and turning back to his stranded friend. Dragging Neville to his feet he pushed him up the last few hurdles.

'B-b-bloody-'

'NO'

'But I'm shattered cant we just-'

'NO'

'Only for a-'

'I SAID SHUTTIT NEVILLE, if you want we can swap places' at that particular moment in time Lee was carrying Neville in a way that can only be described as somewhere between a fireman's lift and a piggy back.

Mr. Jordan's olive green jumper came into view as they came over the hillcrest. At that moment a strong wind hit them with such a force that they promptly collapsed, Neville was otherwise unhurt as Lee provided good padding. Mr. Jordan couldn't help but snigger.

'Oh, would you look at that they've chosen a delightful watering can this year.'

'Pardon?'

Mr Jordan was of course, referring to the port key, which was sitting proudly a few metres away. As the boys gathered in a circle Mr Jordan issued a few commands.

'Now, hold on tight to the can at all times. The are no exits please keeps your arms and legs from flailing about in a rather un-orderly fashion at all times- oh and Neville' he added taking a glance towards the panting boy to his right. 'Please try not to be sick until I am at least three metres away from you.'

'But I might not be sick'

'Oh trust me you will be'

'Alright boys only-' Mr Jordan glanced at his watch 'one minute until departure time.'

Suddenly Lee felt himself being lurched from the ground beneath him, the wind was rushing or rather wailing all around them. Trying to look at Neville and his father Lee only saw their faces as a blur, as he started to spin faster and faster.

But before he knew it the ground rose up to meet them and he landed with a rather large thump.

Lee realised he was flat on the ground next to Neville, his father however had taken a more graceful descent and land next them with - in Lees opinion- an overly pompous pirouette.

'No need to show off.' grumbled Lee as he dashed away from Neville.

'The old dog's still got it' said his father winking at them both.

Lee turned around as he heard footsteps approaching and met the eyes of Harry Potter the boy who- this train of thought was rudely interrupted by the sound of Neville being sick in a rose bush.

'All right Lee, nice to see you Mr Jordan. Neville you all right there?' asked Harry peering at the hindquarters of his friend who was currently defacing the shrubbery.

'I- think- so' panted Neville who had a bit of a queasy look on his face, and was turning a pleasant shade of green. 'Shouldn't have eaten that last chocolate frog, where's Ron and Hermione?'

'I left them at a stall, Hermione was bullying Ron into buying a pair of ominocculars, the others are putting up the tent; we better head out that way.'

'Ah jolly good show I certainly agree' said Lee's father slapping his thigh as he chuckled away.

With that, a short fat man suddenly apparated by their sides, leaving a trail of pink smoke in his wake. He was dressed in a rather violent shade of orange, which went splendidly with the peacock feather stuck in his straw hat.

'Good afternoon all' said the man rocking backwards and forwards on his heels, his stomach suggested he was somewhat fond of butterbeer.

'My name is Wilfred Collywobbles, I'm the resident caretaker of all miscellaneous magical objects and wizarding aids, in other words shove your portkey in this box if would be so kind' he said as he whipped out a large wicker hamper.

'Follow me to the campsite, keep up now.' He added to Neville, who had only just removed himself from the foliage.

'I'm off to help set up the tent- I don't trust Mr Weasley with the matches, I'll catch you later.' proclaimed Harry, trying to flatten his already windswept hair as he strode off in almost the opposite direction.

Upon reaching their allotted pitch Mr Jordan went to greet some old school friends, which gave Neville and Lee a chance to look around. The pair looked carefully at all the passers by and decided after promptly awarding the best dressed to a short fat witch wearing a balaclava, poncho and knickerbockers; that some wizards were a bit out of touch with the Muggling world.

'Let's get this tent up boys' announced Mr Jordan.


	3. Chapter 3

(((special thankks to lauren Hayden inventor of helpful hints and ace typing)) )

'Tell ya what lads, all ya can eet, that'll 'ave 'em flocking to 'arr doors, greedy buggers the lot of 'em those Muggles I tells ya.'

The mans two cronies nodded and rubbed their hands together in glee. Staring at their master's boots they looked up at his head, which was covered with a mop of greasy hair.

'But boss, I don't geddit how will that gedum into the campsite.' Said the thicker of the two.

The tall man rolled his eyes and grimaced revealing his stump like teeth.

''Ave you never 'eard of a cloaking spell, will drive 'em in like sheep.'

'But boss' proclaimed the other slightly more intelligent, but not remarkably so man 'isn't there spells to stop muggles gettin' in an' all that.'

'Not exactly boys, I took care of that.' Said the man, proudly straightening his jacket. Sneering at his employees he barked 'Now getta move on you've gotta job to do.'

They scurried off.

'Nice tent Lee' said Neville earnestly, nodding in the direction of their canvas marvel. Lee smiled and wiped the sweat off his brow, it had been a hard afternoons work, but after two collapses and an lengthy search for the guy ropes, -which had been discovered in Neville's, back pocket- they had finally finished.

'My dad got it off and Irish bloke he met in the Leaky Cauldron.' Nodded Lee 'I did have my reservations, want to take a look.'

The boys stepped into the tent and took a look around. Lee rubbed his eyes proclaiming 'Crikey this is what it feels like to be colour-blind.' Neville looked a little queasy 'What an interesting colour scheme' he said. He was referring of course to the vivid shade of green that was plastered on the Walls. Floors. Ceiling. And all upholstery and appliances within the tent. Wondering what the commotion was Lee's dad rushed in with wand drawn and collapsed to the floor.

'His least favourite colour.' Nodded Lee sadly. 'Had a nasty run in with some leprechauns as a child.'

'Oh' said Neville 'Just a slight glitch then'

Later on that evening Neville and Lee took themselves to bed, Mr Jordan however, chose not to accompany them, instead opting for the alternative, of the cold outdoors. He had been seen earlier hurriedly dragging his bed outside, much the amusement of the surrounding onlookers. Lee had told Neville, his dad often forgot he had a wand in these sorts of situations.

Lee and Neville were greeted by a being that look somewhat like a Zombie, but at a second glance they realised it was in fact, Lee's father. The bags under his eyes suggested that he hadn't had the best nights sleep.

Stumbling outside Lee drew in a deep breath smelling the fresh Quidditch air, as ashamed as he was to admit it a shudder of excitement rippled through him as he remember what day it was. He was on the same complex as Victor Krum!

High above eager fans whizzed by on cleansweep sevens and already he could hear the sounds of the Irish supporters chanting names 'LYNCH MULLET MORAN!'- The names drifted across the air.

'One sausage or two?'

'Pardon?' Lee turned Neville who had rather quietly begun to cook breakfast interrupted. Feeling his stomach rumble Lee gladly sat down to a full English.

'Do you recon we'll see the others anytime soon?' said Neville thoughtfully into his hash brown.

'Probably, I mean we do have a fair bit of time to kill before the game starts.- tell you what we'll just finish up and have a wander' said lee diplomatically downing his tea in one 'bye Dad' he said to the sleeping bag huddled next to Neville.

'Yes come and later me collect' said his dad tiredly 'I mean...'

'Yes dad ok gottit' Lee called behind him, he and Neville had already made a move.

No sooner had they left their plot when a large flying object hit Lee from behind, thinking he was being attacked Lee called out to Neville in alarm, only to hear Neville reply nervously.

'Fred, George.' Confused at first Lee thought it was some act of treachery, what had really happened was he had just received a warm greeting from his two best friends.

'What was that?' he exclaimed.

'One of our latest inventions' replied Fred gleefully.

'Something up with your dad?' asked George turning towards Lee's tent and pointing at Mr Jordan who was currently trying to fry his slipper.

'Don't ask, he had a nasty run in with a green tent.' Replied Lee.

'Upto much?' asked Neville.

'Not really but…' At this point Fred was cutting off as a balding man in a one piece sleep suit rounded the corner, holding what appeared to be a rubber chicken.

'RUN' shouted the twins in unison, grabbing the other two by the sleeves.

Darting in amongst the tents Lee barely had a chance to ask them. 'What is going on?'

'Well… it's a bit of a long story.' panted George.

'Lets just say that rubber chicken he is holding used to be a wand.' Said Fred.

Neville in true form tripped over a tent pole, causing the others to go flying and land in the middle of a family sat down to their eggs and bacon.

'Morning all' Said Fred, simultaneously winking and pulling flecks of mud out of his hair. 'Might I say you look particularly radiant today…'

A deep growling (easily mistaken for a pack of wolverines) interrupted Fred as the angry man slowly began to approach, moving in for the kill.

'on second thoughts I don't think this relationship will work out' said Fred to the busty blonde as he hastily stood up to his feet . Looking too the others who were already edging away without him he decided to use some initiative and make a run for it , grabbing his brother and Neville by the sleeve as he ran past he shouted to Lee.

'MOVE YOURSELF'

'I'm coming' said Lee clutching his ankle which he had sprained in the fall. Lee was beginning to know how Neville felt going up that hill.

However the pain was quickly forgotten as he turned back and saw the man coming thundering towards them

'I can recommend an excellent folical stimulant' grinned George to the man as he rubbed his full head of red hair.

This seemed to enrage the man more who was past words.

'Why me WHY ME' stammered Neville his eyes wide with fright.

'Not to worry lads' said the twins simultaneously rolling up their sleeves 'Peruvian vanishing powder' said George

'Always does the trick' agreed Fred. With that the twins threw two small pellets , an unimaginable sea of dark smog exploded out of the tiny contraptions just allowing the boys time too duck behind a stall and evade their furious pursuer.

Once the man had given up (muttering words that cannot be published) as he turned rubbing his head and shaking his rubber chicken wand Lee breathed a sigh of relief. From under the stall he could see three pairs of feet, one in a fairly shabby pair of trainers, one in a pair of immaculate walking boots and one in a pair of green Wellington's three sizes too big.

The owner of the walking boots gave a large sigh 'for goodness sake Ron cant you shut that ridiculous badge up , I've had about 20 dirty looks from passing Bulgarians and I don't really want to get jinxed.'

'Stupid fatty Dudley and his rubbish fatty feet' muttered the owner of the massive wellies.

Turning to Neville lee raised an eyebrow.

'told you we'd find them ' she smiled.


End file.
